


Triumphs

by Azure_Chi



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Character Study, Depression, Destiny, Destiny 2, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, The Red War (Destiny)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:33:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21820993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azure_Chi/pseuds/Azure_Chi
Summary: The Grimoire will tell you tales of valour and glory. Vanguard Archives will only hold crisp reports.  Ghost's audiovisual feed will be the closest thing to the truth... but it will still fail to tell you how many scars can a war leave on a Guardian's heart.[Following D2 story & lore with a very personal touch. Expect tags to expand as I publish new chapters!]
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	1. Traveler’s Chosen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who could've imagined that the shining bastion of The Last City was going to fall? Not this Guardian for sure.   
> With hopes and bones shattered equally rough, we start our journey in the burning ruins of the no-longer safe haven of humankind.

**Traveler’s Chosen**

_A City-made sidearm, built for those chosen by the Traveler to become Guardians. ___

____

__

____

Every rez was the same, in a sense.

Light would expand her chest, fill her with a burning, revivifying feeling. Was there anything, really, that she could compare it to? It skated over the edge of weird, blissed delight, and dipped into the pain just enough to refresh consciousness. She was used to the rez; it was a mundane practice for any active Guardian. Perhaps, that was the main reason she lost the respect of it. Why bother, if every time it was the same?

Except, this one wasn’t.

To be fair, you couldn’t call it a rez per se: it was an awakening in never-ending jolts of aching. The pain was coursing through her body so intensely that, at first, she wasn’t even able to tell what hurt the most. Now, _that_ level of suffering was so unusual that she almost passed out again... yet something - instincts, maybe? - kept her up. That, and, well, the flashing memories of the last things she saw.

Ghaul. His monumental figure cased in a pristine white armour; his boot sole, pushing her in the face and tripping over the edge of a ship deck.

The Red Legion. Countless troops emerging from blazing hot drop-units; they scoured every floor and room of the Tower, seeking to eliminate everyone on their way.

Traveler. Their hope enveloped in a deadly hug of an unknown Cabal machine that cut off Guardians from the Light.

An attack on the Last City. Stiff peaks of ashes spiring through the sky and filling the air with acrid smoke.

She inhaled it deeply, filling the lungs with a sharp mix of concrete dust and burning plastic, and gave in. She threw up immediately, throbbing in her head nauseating her. The sudden curling of her body sent even more shock through her whole system, echoing in her ribs, left arm, knees, shoulders- everywhere.

The pain was _everywhere_.

She tried to focus her vision on the surroundings and found it equally troublesome. Her helmet was ruined: half of the visor shattered and caved inside - she couldn’t feel it poking into her numbed cheek but assumed it did so - the other half smeared with blood. What were her choices? Either to try wiping off the reds or take off the useless piece of garbage. Either way, it would be tricky, with one of her arms arrested by excruciating torment.

Suck it up or die, she thought and took another deep inhale to ready herself. Her right arm was also thoroughly bruised, but it was bearable enough to move around. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy, the surface of the helmet - slippy and uneven. It took her several attempts to undo the clasps while still lying on the concrete, and even more effort went into pulling the headpiece off. Busted edges left a solid gnaw on her swollen cheek - but it was nothing compared to the thudding pain at the back of her head.

Once the helmet was off, she felt her face gingerly. That nose was definitely broken; eyes, fortunately, safe: the left one was simply swollen and shut glued closed with a crust of corked blood. That brow was also cut and leaking, and the jaw was sore. She whimpered, rubbing the aching joint; trying to be as quiet as possible was a good idea.

So, she had not been found or caught yet. A miracle, indeed: as if it wasn’t enough that she survived a fall from a soaring ship. Normally, her Ghost would patch her up with Light in seconds but Traveler knew where he was - perhaps, even dead. A cold shudder of fear clenched her gut at a single thought of it, and she closed eyes, trying to listen. He had always been there for her, filling some sort of a gap in her soul she had never felt before… Not in this life, at least. So she listened, trying to tug the thinnest threads that connected them, all the Light that was left in her, that let her live on.

Silence.

No, he couldn’t possibly- She shook off the creeping tendrils of panic and blinked off forming tears. No, her Ghost couldn’t die. He wouldn’t perish easily, that absurd, impossible, snarky and witty blob of undying energy. They had been together since the beginning, for as long as she could remember herself, and she could not possibly imagine the world without him.

She had to find him. Last she remembered of him was Ghaul nudging the shiny shell off the ship, possibly a few quarters away. She was not ready to do any math, especially to calculate the approximate location of their respective landings; however, common sense was telling her that it should not have been too far off. He was her first and priority quest: without the Ghost, she had no access to her weaponry, cosily stashed in his pocket dimension. Could she hope for some healing? With Traveler sieged by those nasty Cabal leeches, she could not even try estimating how much of the Light power was left in her disposal.

Dammit.

There was no sense in lying around any longer. Either she moved, or Cabal would find her soon: for all the shit they were, they knew how to patrol. She tried to sit up slowly, helping herself with a better arm. It wasn’t too bad; standing up was a whole different lot: her whole left side protested and burst in agony as soon as she assumed a nearly vertical position. Her body demanded an immediate medical treatment, yet there was little she could do. All the decades of coexisting with a loyal Ghost companion by her side taught her that medicines were not a thing of high demand for a Guardian. How bitterly she regretted not having a single tab of painkiller at that moment…

Before moving any further, she ripped a part of her robe for a makeshift arm sling. Either way, that appendage was useless in a fight, but it was far more comfortable to have it nursed against her chest rather than swatting around. Putting the arm in a sling was an adventure on its own: keeping sobs and hisses low was nearly impossible, yet pivotal. She could not afford to attract any patrol attention.

If they had warbeasts along, her chances were even worse: these monsters could easily catch the scent of her blood and track her down. She lingered with that thought and ripped tails of her robe as well. One was spent on bandaging as many wounds as she noticed to cover up the mess, the other she used to wipe off as much blood as she possibly could.

She held the piece of soaked cloth and glanced at the helmet. Survival tactics were forte of Hunters, not the bookworm Warlocks, but her wit could not be dulled even by her sad condition. A quick glance around, and she realised that she was at the sole of a collapsed building close to the edge of a small plaza. There was a pedestrian street blocked by the rubble she found herself on, and another one branching off from the corner to the left. Up ahead, there was a ruined bridge that earlier crossed over a trenched motorway: her chance to get out of the city.

The plan was simple: limp over to the other street, leave the helmet at the corner and throw the cloth further down, then make way for the motorway. She had never really spent time in the city, yet all those day-off evenings spent on gazing it did not go in vain. These motorways were normally leading to the wall and gates outside, and there was, possibly, a way out. Perhaps, she could find some guns and meds in the wall: the city watch had their armouries and first aid corners at the watchpoints. The surveillance system could also help her track down the Ghost if he was still alive... The rest could wait until she got there.

She bit her lip to muffle a pained groan while throwing the wet cloth as far into the sidestreet as she could. Her body immediately erupted in protest, vision blackening and knees going weak, so she had to lean onto the wall, wheezing heavily. Any movement reminded her of how beaten up she was, and that any action, even most effortless, turned into torture.

Then, a gunshot ripped the air.

Panting, she turned back to the bridge. There was a patrol emerging from around the corner on the other ‘bank’ of the motorway. She drew in a quick breath and jammed herself into the wall, trying to hide in the shadows of a broken lamp post. Dammit, her Ghost could have used some camo tech to hide her from the plain sight, if only he was there. Or if she had her blink active- she could have ported up that balcony above her and hidden there. Unfortunately, no matter how hard she strained herself to get at least a small sparkle of Light, it was all in vain. Relying on her natural skills sucked a big deal since she knew no life without the Light and always believed that it would stay with her until her last, permanent death.

Was that it, then?..

Blood went pulsing in her ears as she held her breath in a futile hope that they wouldn’t notice her. The first couple of gladiators passed by, not even looking around - their task was to meet the danger straight ahead of them. Not even the legionnaires behind them were a problem - these dumbheads simply didn’t have any tech good enough to spot a crooked figure in the shadows across the bridge.

The colossus, that was the problem Mesa was not happy about. His figure towered over the rest of his compatriots, rocket launching system spiking proudly from its massive mount on his back. That bastard was all stuffed with auto-target rockets and she had no chance surviving those.

Unlike the rest of the troops, he took the liberty to stop every once in a while, looking around for any disturbance his brethren failed to notice. Once, his gaze clearly went in her direction, and Mesa couldn’t help but swallow thickly.

It lingered.

She stared back, trying to think of any way to survive this encounter while he seemingly hesitated. Could she hide in a building? They would give her a chase immediately or even collapse the condo on her to finish her off quickly.

She ceased to move at all, her back and legs swelling with pain. For how long could she keep standing like that, praying to the Traveler that she wouldn’t start trembling and give herself away? Just how long did that colossus have to look where she was? Her left leg started shaking, strained in an awkward position.

That’s when he turned away and took a thudding step forward to catch up with the rest of his unit. The sounds of his armour covered any other noise in the vicinity, allowing Mesa to take a shaky gasp. Finally, the patrol passed by without noticing her. She moved out slowly, trying her best to shuffle closer to the motorway as fast as possible: weakness started taking over her body after an intense adrenaline rush. To think of it, it could have been over in a second. An attentive glance in her direction and anything could have given her away - a torch reflection on the abandoned helmet, a sudden pained grunt escaping her lips… She could be dead, but she wasn’t.

The relief flooded her system and she lost concentration for a split of a second: it appeared to be enough for her to slip on the rubble and stumble down on the motorway. She held breath, straining her ears to hear if the patrol had noticed it and was returning back, but luck was with her. There were no sounds coming from the direction the left into.

Standing up again was a nightmare she started getting used to. Not that it felt any easier, but at least she knew how to avoid unnecessary pain by moving softer, slower. There was something bubbling in her lungs, but she avoided thinking about it. Occasionally her mind would return to her Ghost, but she did her best to get rid of the suffocating fear for his life. She couldn’t afford to be arrested with emotion at that moment, so she pushed forward along the motorway, hiding in debris as dropships and tanks passed by.

It took her hours to crawl through, ducking, falling, standing up and shuffling awkwardly with her limbs giving out the last energy they had. Further down the motorway, the wall of it was destroyed extensively, water pipes fountaining on the asphalt. On the one hand, it would perfectly conceal her trail, leaving no trace of her route; on the other hand… there was enough water to make noise as she moved forward, her steps sometimes echoing in the flooded trench. Static from the comm earpiece was not making things any easier, but she feared to switch it off or throwing away - what if there still was someone out there, same as her, trying to get out of this living hell?...

The thought of it was so desperately hopeful that she never even considered it to be possible - not until she heard a wail-like noise. She stopped, shaking head: no, it was just a glitch, there was no way she could catch a transmission there, even so close to the wall. Yet the static went up again, forming into an indistinguishable murmur. It did not sound like Cabal comms: she was somehow certain they mostly barked up in their transmissions- But who could have possibly been there? Furthermore, on the same frequency as her earpiece?...

“Awful,” she finally heard more clear than before. The voice was full of static, yet it sounded so familiar. “This… cannot be happening,” The unidentified speaker continued, their volume growing as they seemingly approached.

She knew that voice, no matter how distorted it was.

Last bit of strength left her and she dropped on her knees, letting out a single sob. In the distance, a blue torchlight-like beam blinked and turned in her direction. “Mesa?” The voice in comms sounded weak and overflow with emotion, light blinking hesitantly a bit further away.

“Soup, it’s me- I’m here, you’re looking in my direction,” she whispered faintly, finding herself unable to stand up anymore. The light darted towards her, growing in size as it approached and took a familiar shape of her Ghost. He flew up to her, shedding sparks of circuiting energy, and hovered next to her maimed form.

“You’re alive! I-” He scanned her and she felt his interference with her own structure, his beam registering every wound she sported. “...I thought I’ve lost you. Wait, wait, I can heal you!” As he stammered tiredly, Mesa felt the routine healing protocol taking over her body. This time it was different from the normal, magic-like healing of Light: she felt her bones snap back in place, and burning sensation of skin growing together over the numerous scabs and cuts. It did not make her any less tired, but her breathing finally evened, and her arm stopped hurting as it did before - as if someone kept burning it with white-hot iron.

“...but I can’t resurrect you,” Ghost added bitterly, finishing up the process. “Not since…”

“Soup, please,” Mesa whispered back, reaching out to his broken shell and pulling it close to her chest. They both fell quiet, overwhelmed by the sudden reunion neither of them expected. Could they afford a minute wasted on such cheesiness? She couldn’t care much about it, with one of her biggest worries away; not until another tank rolled soundly across the bridge above them.

“How long have you been searching for me?” She asked quietly at last, letting go of the shell. Soup glanced up towards the Cabal troops and immediately hid in his pocket dimension out of safety. Good choice: that way they would catch less attention.

“Go straight down the motorway, towards the gate- Two days.” He spoke, switching from audible voice into the transmission line of her earpieces.

“Two days?...” Mesa knit her brows, shaking head in disbelief as she deftly ran from one cover to another. She followed brisk directions of her Ghost, happy enough that his healing allowed her to move far more stealthily than before.

“Keep to the right. Without the Light, and our commlinks down, I couldn’t even- I didn’t even know if you survived Ghaul-”

“I understand, buddy. I also thought I’ve lost you when you fell off the ship edge,” she sighed, biting onto her lip, “If only I held you tighter…”

“It’s not your fault,” He reassured her, “Now, to the right. We were both under the shock of our Light taken away, I can only imagine how it felt for you…”

They fell quiet as Mesa climbed up the rubble and onto the security platform. With no patrols around, she made it safely into the corridor revealed by a collapsed part of the wall. It was quiet there: it was only the distant sound of Red Legion alarm sirens and uneven red light of emergency lamps that reminded her of the destruction was one step away.

“Mesa, the Light is gone,” Soup spoke quietly as they walked further into the depth of the City Wall. “They’ve taken the city… Traveler… Everything.” Bitter remorse coloured his distorted voice. “The Red Legion is killing powerless Guardians. We have to get out of here.”

“We will, once I get some supplies,” She reasoned, forcing herself to think about necessities first. “Do you still have my weapons?”

“No. Once they’ve shut down our systems, I couldn’t access the armoury anymore.”

“Can you figure out where the vaults are here, at least?” She stopped by a corner, listening intently for any noise that could alert her. In a second, Ghost materialized next to her, spilling another fountain of electricity against the wall.

“I know the place. There’s also something I need to show you.” He said quietly, single eye nodding in the direction they needed to move. “Or, rather, someone. _Someones_ , even, if you could say so.”

“Survivors?” Mesa gave him an astonished glance, then looking up the staircase well and quickly running up to the next floor.

“A Guardian…. Freshly rez’ed.”

“Wait, what?” Mesa slowed down, her attention now fully captured by Ghost’s statement.

“His Ghost, Althea- You remember her?”

“Yes, she was in Asher’s ward, so? Wait, and Asher-”

“She said he was evacuated. So, Althea found her Guardian moments before Red Legion blocked the Light out, she barely managed to rez him.”

Mesa hummed. What an awful day to get rez’ed: humanity was brought on its knees, the last safe haven was destroyed, the Light - cut out, and yet somewhere out there a little brave Ghost brought someone back to existence. “Tough for him, I guess. Rez’ed and without any powers to help him survive.”

“Oh, he’s been doing great on his own! Well, and Althea.” Soup cackled awkwardly, spitting another fountain of sparks on a nearby wall. “I am not entirely sure of his origins, but it seems like he’s been a Wall guard.”

“Good for him. He might be able to handle a gun, then.” Mesa nodded, crossing an open floor area in brisk steps to reach a closed door with a code lock. “Here?...”

“Yes. Knock it, three times.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good code system,” Warlock murmured incredulously and followed his instructions. Silence hung thickly for a good minute until a single knock followed from the other side.

“Althea, Nolan, it’s us! I found her!” Ghost flew up to the small eyesight window. Someone’s eyes showed up briefly and dipped down, then, rustles followed. Mesa stepped back cautiously, listening to the door mechanism: one turn, second turn, the third one was slow and forceful as if the lock was really tight. A short thud - perhaps, they put some barricade behind the door - and, finally, it was open.

There was a human: in his middle 20s, so it seemed. His uniform was fresh, although strangely baggy; he might have changed from the clothing he was killed in, Mesa realized as she noticed how both his sleeves and pants were rolled up.

“Wow, um,” He spoke quietly, staring at Mesa with sort of childlike amazement, “So that’s how Awoken look like? Sorry- You are the first living person I have seen since I died.”

Her heart sank a little, sadness taking over the rest of emotions. She had witnessed a few freshly rez’ed Guardians, but it’d always been in a far better atmosphere. Of course she knew that not everyone had a blessing of being brought back to life in peace and quiet, but it seemed too rough to be brought back in the middle of a City attack. Whether it was the Wall or the City he died at, chances were that he had encountered way too many corpses on his way to this safe space.

“I’m- My name is Mesa.” She offered him a hand for a handshake and he took it after a second of an awkward pause.

“I know, Soup told me. Did you name him like this?..”

“No, someone else. It’s a long story, I’ll tell you later.” Mesa shot a glare at her companion and walked in, helping to barricade the door once again. “I am sorry that he made you guys wait so long, but we really need to go now. Just some supplies, and then go, because Cabal might be here at any moment.” She did not want to rush or panic the other Guardian, but time was the most valuable resource they had at that moment.

“I’ve packed something already for both of us. Soup was adamant on finding you, so I felt it would not hurt to be prepared.” He smiled sheepishly and swung his arm towards one of the corridor rooms. Mesa simply nodded and marched there, immediately spotting the bags. She knelt by to examine them: plenty of ammo, some guns - she took one, strapping over her shoulder to be ready to fire anytime - a few rations, and a first aid kit.

She held it up, staring at the little box intensely. Her mind immediately obliged her with recent memories of a broken arm and aching head, and she could not help but notice how her hands started trembling. “You might want to get us more rations… and a couple more of these,” She said quietly, putting it back in the bag.

“But I am here to-” Soup stopped in the middle of the sentence, realising what she was thinking about. “...Right.”

The room filled with thick silence. The mood was dark and all the things untold were hanging in there, threatening Mesa’s sanity. She had no right to stall them over such a ridiculous mood swing, yet their new reality broke all the rules she had been following for over 30 years of her new life.

She was scared. Scared and terrified of everything: how could they recover? What could she do, powerless and no longer stupidly immortal? What if she and her Ghost would get separated again, or, worse, what if he got killed? All these questions without answers finally gained shape as soon as her survival was no longer a priority, and they made her hairs stand as shiver broke through her knelt frame.

“We’ll bring them.” Finally, Althea jumped out of her pocket, her greenish eye giving Mesa a quick nod before she turned towards her Guardian. “Nolan, shall we?...”

“...yeah.” Sensing the tension in the air, newbie preferred to get out of the room. His Ghost trailed behind, and in a moment Mesa and Soup were left alone.

“I won’t leave you again,” Soup muttered, floating down to Mesa’s hands and resting there, “And I know you. You won’t let me die.”

“I wasn’t able to protect you back on the ship, and what can I do now? Nothing.” Mesa cringed, trying to fight back unnecessary tears. She had to concentrate and lead them all out of the City, in safety, before it was too late, and shock-based hysteria was the last thing she needed at that moment. Yet it all started haunting her: scared cries of people in the tower, sounds of explosions in the city- heck, even the sound of whistling wind in her ears before she lost consciousness in that fall off a Red Legion ship.

“You remember what Ikora used to tell you? We are soulmates. We are one. And as long as we are together, we can do anything.” He shuffled the parts of his shell to stroke her hands in a makeshift gesture of compassion. “We can do it, Mesa. We will be cautious, and we will survive.”

Her tear hit warmly over his eye, then another. She thinned lips in the last futile attempt to hold it and then burst in crying, curling down and burying her face in the Ghost. “I was so scared for you,” She wept, “I was so scared that I couldn’t even think of you dying, it would just kill me right there!”

“I know, I know,” Soup’s voice also shook and he let out another burst of electricity sparkles in his full anxiety, their pins and needles biting her face “I wouldn’t leave the City until I found you, and I begged Traveler so much to keep you safe!”

She cried for both of them until there were no more tears left, only ugly hiccups. Who would have known: setting her emotions loose allowed Mesa to rid herself of the tension the last couple of hours built up. That rollercoaster flung any unnecessary anxiety away, and soon enough she found her mind mostly clear of the panicked fog.

Right, breathe in, breathe out. She was a proud Warlock, someone who had picked up Stormcaller ways so easily that even Ikora was amazed by her level of self-control and patience. She could not disappoint her mentors by degrading into a useless scaredy-cat.

“...We will still take some meds. Traveler knows what’s going on out there, and I don’t want you out of your pocket until we are safe.” She sighed and wiped face with a sleeve.

“Point taken,” Soup agreed, taking her tone as a sign to get back to business. “We also found some blankets in the resting room. They are pretty light, but it’s better than nothing when you’re out of Solar.”

“As long as they are not too heavy, we don’t want to be slowed down.”

“I might be cut off from our armoury, but I can still carry things!” Soup scoffed, flying up and spinning his shell. Mesa nodded slowly and looked around the room. She noticed a small mirror in one of the lockers and shuffled closer to it, hoping to see her eyes clear enough to fake that nothing happened.

Her face was a mess. There was still dirt and dried blood, now smudged across her features to the point of hiding her facial tattoos. Soup did a great job on healing her wounds, but she could definitely see a thin scar where she cut herself with the broken helmet. Lightless Ghost’s powers were not infinite, so it seemed; she took a mental note of that. “Is there a restroom nearby? I should probably wash all of that off.”

“The door across,” Soup offered the information gallantly. “Unfortunately, no scented soap, but the dispenser is still working.”

“Look who’s got their sass back.” She gave him a crooked smile and stood up, approaching the door. A cautious peek behind confirmed that Nolan and Althea were still busy somewhere at the end of the corridor, so Mesa walked over to the bathroom gingerly. Coldwater from the sink tab was delightfully refreshing; she rubbed her face and hands rigorously, streams of brown and red carried away into the pipes. A quick thought to wash her hair was discarded just as fast: although her tight bun looked more like a dust mop, there was no time for such frivolities. Even the armour and robes, no matter how dirty and battered they were, she was not going to do anything about it. They were about to get out in the wilds, so there was no point in shining these garments.

She bumped into the new Guardian right as she was exiting the bathroom. “Nolan, right?” Mesa recalled that she never really asked for his name.

“So it seems.” He patted chest by a collarbone, where his nametag was supposed to be, and realised that it was no longer there. “That was written on my ID card. Nolan Hunt.”

“Well, then, Nolan,” She nodded, “I suppose I will be your first fireteam... Together, we have a long road ahead.”

“I picked up an emergency broadcast earlier,” Althea chimed in, rotating her parts around the eye, “Rendez-vous coordinates. They are still evacuating the planet. Maybe we could make our way there?”

“Risky, but there is little else we could do,” Mesa agreed with her. “If we are not late, of course. Otherwise, we’ll search for other survivors, I doubt that we’re left alone here.”

“For now, we’re still on our own,” Soup floated into the corridor. “Let’s not draw Red Legion’s attention to us, we won’t be able to repel an attack at this point. I will try scanning the lower floors to see if there is any way outside - a break in the wall, sewage system… Brr.” He shuddered at a thought of it and Mesa reached out to give him a quick tickle under the shell.

“It’s better than Hive brood nests, right?”

“Ugh, you just had to bring up the worst things!” Soup expanded like an angry cat and floated away, mumbling something angrily. Mesa’s corners of lips twitched up for a second; she then exhaled a chuckle and turned back to Nolan.

“Let’s go, there is still some packing to be done. We, Traveler’s Chosen, need to stick together these days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!   
> If you've reached this point, congrats and thank you so much :) I hope you liked what you read! Leave your thoughts in comments below so that I can make this fic even better!  
> PS: If you found a grammar/punctuation mistake, feel free to msg me @ https://azurechi.tumblr.com/ cuz English is not my first language but I am trying my best :D


	2. Sorrow MG2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visions of the recent past - along with doubts and crippling sorrow - keep haunting both Guardians on their way to the safety.   
> Strange dreams that haunt Mesa do not help either: how far will blind faith in the Traveler take her?

**Sorrow MG2**

_ A standard-issue Omolon weapon. City-made. _

It had been 4 days since the attack on the City; 2 days since they had left the Wall. Time became an unreliable measuring unit: it was going both unbelievably fast and excruciatingly slow. To think of it, Mesa’s encounter with Ghaul seemed to have happened ages ago... and yet the wounds were still fresh.

Every time Awoken glanced over her shoulder at Traveler, her heart bled: it was a pain to see his sphere entangled in cockroach legs of the Cabal machine. The simple image of it made her feel as if sharp steel was biting into her own flesh, not the white shell of the dormant saviour. Grieving, she mused if all surviving Guardians felt the same helplessness, sheer disgust at the fact that they were not able to do anything.

As a prim and proper Warlock, Mesa never disputed Vanguard orders. Who was she to question the way things had held up for centuries prior to her rez? Then, after the attack on the City, doubts started gnawing her heart. What if Zavala commanded to protect Traveler instead of citizens? Would Guardians be able to stand their ground and save the City from being taken over if they still had their Light? Could they have saved more people from this pointless slaughter if other orders were given? It was hard to judge since she had no idea how far up the bloodshed thermometer went. Perhaps, it was useless to question any decisions at that point: after the attack had already happened and they had lost the City.

Fortunately, she had a nice distraction in the face of Nolan and their Ghosts. The new Guardian was endlessly curious about the world around them, his own memory offering him only the facts and skills necessary for their survival. Mesa did her best to explain him things she unquestionably knew and shared theories when it came to the questions that still perplexed even the most honourable Warlocks.

They talked quite a bit in quiet whispers while their Ghosts were on a radar duty. On the first night in the City outskirts, they almost managed to get rest; however, their sleep was cut short after a couple of hours, when Soup warned them of a Cabal patrol skirting by. Both Guardians packed in silence and pushed forward, adrenaline keeping them up in the dark of the night. They did not dare to talk until the first rays of dawn cut through a monochrome gradient of the landscape, making it easier for them to spot enemies from a distance.

In fear, they carried on. Just how many hours had they spent walking in such spartan conditions? They never really allowed themselves much of a break, traversing hostile lands as cautiously as possible. Every once in a while they stopped to have a quick snack in complete silence, gnawing onto whatever food that did not need any preparations. With Cabal troops nearby, wasting time on cooking and setting a campfire would be a stupid idea.

Speaking of which; without neither fire warmth nor Solar, their advance became far more challenging. The jacket they found for Nolan was not made for summits, so, during one of the hasty breaks, he simply sewed one of the light blankets into a poncho to add an extra layer of insulation. Threads and needles from a first necessities kit became surprisingly useful: thank Traveler they took them along.

Herself, Mesa was fine. A good - yet trashed - armour and a thermoregulatory suit under it offered enough protection against frostbites. On the other hand, having no helmet out in the cold was not the most comfortable feeling... She gave up on the last skirt panel of her robe to muster a makeshift scarf. In all honesty, handling her robes like that made Warlock feel stripped of her honour. It used to be a fine set of Ego Talon wear; she got it only recently and put great pride in it at a time. An elegant silhouette, thick and glossy fabric, hand-painted patterns: that was an exquisite piece of craftsmanship she had to give up on.

Yet who cared about fashion when bone-chilling winds kept hitting them like waves of arctic oceans? Occasionally, they heard a faint, droning gurgle of nearby streams. Cold and unforgiving, that water gave Guardians immediate brain freeze every time they stopped to take a couple of sips and refill canteens.

No matter how practical they were with their outfits and food consumption, there was a point when exhaustion became unbearable. Mesa hated to admit it and kept quiet to the end. Her Guardian endurance used to be remarkable and she refused to admit that Light-ridden, she could no longer achieve the same feats. Nolan, on the other hand, had no such sentiments and just enough of common sense to request a long rest. The day was closing on them as well, their shadows slowly fading into red-tinted gloom.

“We could try finding a cave?” Not without a note of hesitation, Soup offered. “I think Althea and I might be able to pull a decent camo at the entrance so that you could even make a fire...”

Mesa considered the landscape, trying to recall everything they had seen earlier that day. Could natural features give them enough cover to allow a fire? She was not certain. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Smoke might give us away. Have you seen these Threshers in the sky? And ground patrols?”

“You don’t want to freeze to death, so you?” Ghost narrowed his eye suspiciously, ignoring her retaliatory questions.

“Enticing as it sounds, I believe I have no such intentions.” Mesa reached out to hold him in a cupped hand. “We still have our blankets, and we will huddle together to create some warmth.”

“I would still get some forage, just in case,” Nolan’s hushed voice reached them from behind. He had just climbed up the trail to join his companions, wiping sweat from his brow. “If it gets too cold, we could risk it. Pardon me, but I am still a little bit nervous about this whole… Traveler’s system of perks and benefits for Guardians.”

Sure, Guardians felt less thirst and hunger, less heat and cold, but there were, indeed, some if’s and but’s in their current condition. Nonetheless, when put in such funny wording – as Nolan did – Warlock couldn’t help but smile tiredly. “I can’t even imagine,” she nodded, “To wake up with a promise of new powers and... complete inability to use them at the moment.”

“Look, I am up to believe in those glorious magic skills you keep telling me about, I just... I wish I could witness them first before betting on them.”

Mesa watched him lean heavily onto the coldness of rock for a brief respite. Surely he was fit as any Wall watch member was required to be, yet their training never assumed two days marathoning cliffs. Truth to be told, even her own legs ached as if she had walked a thousand miles.

They had to deal with the tiredness for another good hour until they found a nice nook for themselves, plucking lone pines for dead branches on the go. Some of the brushwood they arranged together to pillow the upcoming sleep; the rest, drier, sturdier bits they put in the middle of the cave clearing. Nolan spent a bit more time fiddling with the blankets, forming them into sloppy sleeping bags.

Seeing as he would not accept her help - what could she do, really, if they had just one needle? - Warlock seated herself at the very entrance of the cave. She folded her legs and rested wrists over knees, assuming one of the meditation stances. Slowing her breathing down to a measured pace was not too hard, but as Awoken tried clearing her mind of the recent memories, they felt sharp as glass: brush over them and they cut you. Every time she closed her eyes, images of the besieged City flashed in front of her, and Mesa gave up after a good half an hour of trying to rid herself of them. Even if she could still connect with the Light through meditation, it wasn’t going to happen easily. First, she had to find a balance again.

“I thought you fell asleep,” Nolan admitted sheepishly when Mesa shifted and turned back inside the cave. “Is that some sort of a Warlock thing?”

“Our branch is the most mystic in its teaching. We often resort to select practices of the past.” It wasn’t going to be a long lecture, but she could not skip a chance to educate her companion. “They say that first proto-Warlocks were present on Earth thousands of years before Traveler arrived. They used various meditation and trance techniques to connect to the extraterrestrial energies, so we adopted a lot of their heritage.”

“Does it help somehow?”

Mesa fell quiet for a second, picking the best words. “It does, but you need to be well-practised to feel every bit of Light inside your body. Some Warlocks train for years to carry such a state of mind outside the meditative condition: they are able to sense both Light and Darkness from afar, like radars. But big chunks of these energies are palpable in the air even without any specific attunement.”

“I wonder how it feels like when the Traveler is not…” Nolan never finished the phrase, sorrow-thick silence filling their hideout.

“...it’s great. It’s just a big warm beacon of Light.”

For the evening meal, they finally used the quick-heat pads and cooked the vacuum-packed meals. Pretty bland, but filling: it had not occurred to Mesa how hungry she was after all the climbing they did. Heavy warmth set in her stomach and she sighed contently, worming her way into the blankets next to Nolan. They shuffled for a while, getting close enough to interwrap quilts and maximize the number of layers. Personal space mattered no longer with sub-zero temperatures biting onto any exposed part of the body. For that same reason, both of them kept clothing on; Warlock only removed the most uncomfortable parts of her armour.

Nolan dozed off immediately, his breaths growing slow and steady. Mesa, on the other hand, struggled to fall asleep. Stuck in an awkward position where she feared to move - it could have woken up her companion - Warlock was forced to stare into the darkness of the cave roof. Pitch-black relief slowly gained shape as her eyes got used to the faintest reflections of moonlight from the cave entrance.

Eventually, drowsiness claimed Mesa, pulling into the maze of subconsciousness. Her sleep was restless as she twitched, relieving the fall from the ship and pain of the wounds. One fleeting dream melted into another, images tangling together until she found herself in a vast nothingness. A star was born in the darkness; another, and more - soon, all the horizon was foaming with clouds of light and constellations. She dove into it, flying towards the sharp brightness until her body passed through it without any resistance.

Her wings cut through the air and Mesa flew up - no longer herself, but a strange Light-born bird, - to see Traveler and the City in the distance. Did she move, really, or space moved around her? Tips of her wings shed soft wisps of Light that faded into the Darkness behind her.

Further, faster: the bird raced towards the City.

That was a weird flight; she wore herself off in attempts to strain the wings and move faster, closer to the Wall, the Tower, Traveler. Reach it, protect it,  _ save it _ \- No matter how hard Mesa tried, her speed remained the same. It even seemed that her control of this ghostly form wavered: she glided lower and lower, sliding over the surface of the great lake. Buildings of the City sprouted up, growing in size and reaching towards the sphere above them. Whether they tried to harm Traveler or embrace him, she would never know: her wings went weak and Mesa fell into the lake, heavy like a stone slab.

Water erupted around her violently in a stream of bubbles, currents pulling her further down, into the unknown. Her vision failed to register anything, not even lake surface or bottom. A strong current took a full grasp over her body and spun her around, unfolding her robe tails like petals of a blooming flower. For a single heartbeat, she admired the perfect silence as momentum kept slowing down and rotating her lax body. Mesa reached out to the void around herself, closing eyes and trying to feel through it, yet there was nothing but frightening emptiness. She opened eyes once again to see if the landscape changed - and it did. In front of her, Warlock saw a face.

Empty eyes, silent scream. Their mouth was twisted in a mute wail of agony, no bubbles escaping from it, although their arms extended slowly towards Mesa in a wordless plea for help. The person in front of her seemed terrifyingly real for a nightmare; perhaps, it was a reflection of someone’s face that made it through her subconsciousness into the dream.

As if that was not enough of the shock, Mesa realized that there was another figure, and more- She was floating over a field of squirming people, silent and haunting. Someone else reached out for her and Warlock threw arm towards them, attempting to grab them, pull them out... their fingertips cut through the water in a lick away from each other.

Something pulled her away from the sufferers. She was just a toy in the hands of bigger powers, a limp doll, a twig pulled along the stream towards sharp rocks - eerily clean-cut black pyramids that threatened to crush her down and bury in the lake under their weight. Mesa grit teeth and pushed herself through the water with strong butterfly strokes, attempting to escape the ill fate of being drowned, and transgressed through her dream again.

This time, it was a void of a different kind: empty, cosmic. Myriads of distant stars shone at her as an unknown force picked her up once again, gently carrying into purple clouds of the Reef. She barely managed to notice a colossal, blobfish-like spaceship devouring shards of an unknown planetoid before mists blurred her vision and Mesa exhaled in frustration. She reached out into the unknown, fanning through the haze in a desperate hope to clear the view-

A sharp spark of electricity pinched her fingertips, lone energy pulse running through her arm and branching out by the shoulder to spread through the whole of her body. She knew this zap - it was Arc, buzzing in her muscles gingerly in that unique balance between rage and control. Mesa cried out - a mixed feeling of joy, longing and despair ripping her heart, - floundering in the mist in search of the impulse origin. Another jolt shot her from behind, right in the middle of her back, this time releasing a warm burst of Solar in the chest. She held arms up to it, embracing herself to retain that familiar warmth inside. It would not hold; Solar cruelly seeped away, funnelling into…. something?

There was a channel. A direction, which her - was it hers, really? - energy was flowing into.

Mesa looked up hesitantly, fearful and hopeful, to see a perfectly drawn sigil sparkling with Void. Pulsing in brilliant purple, it matched her heartbeat,  _ thudum _ ,  _ thudum _ , and it called her, lured her closer. She gazed in awe over it, savouring every line of the sign, all the sharp and soft turns and edges.

_ Come, child _ .

It was not even a voice; rather, a feeling that formed into the words in her mind. It was a father’s call, a mentor’s bidding, a faint sympathy. Traveler embraced her and soothed her anxiety and fears, gently pushing her through the Void gate. The last thing she saw was a dusky image of his EDZ shard protruding from the thicket of the Blackened Forest.

Mesa woke up with an alarming wheeze, grasping onto her chest where a bittersweet feeling of Traveler’s consolation held. Nolan stirred immediately, rising up from his sleep. “What- Cabal?” He asked, his voice hoarse, and she put a hand over his heart, keeping him down on the makeshift bed.

“Sorry- No, a dream. I…. I have dreams. Intense.” She admitted awkwardly, softening her hold on him. He blinked tiredly and reached out, putting his hand on top of hers to give a small, gentle squeeze. “Yeah, I… get it.”

They wearily smiled at each other in silence. Mesa turned her hand to hold his, wishing to pass on some of Traveler’s comfort to the man - a neophyte who was far more conflicted and lost than she was. “Sleep, we are safe,” Warlock whispered, tucking him in with a caring gesture that felt out of place. He sighed softly and closed eyes, almost immediately returning to his disturbed nap. Mesa watched him for a good minute, making sure that his slumber was deep enough for her to crawl out of the blankets without waking him up again.

“Mesa?” Soup gravitated towards her, circling anxiously around Warlock. She pressed a finger against lips and slipped quietly into the freedom of the night’s cold. As Awoken stood up under the slick of the moonlight, her bare feet felt gravely chill of the cold stone. A moment of hesitation and Mesa discarded the idea of putting on her boots, walking out of the cavern with as little noise as she could.

She enjoyed air that smelled of nothing, neither rusting blood or cabal oil. What a wonderful, crisp feeling it was, to bask in the sobering cold! Barefoot, gloveless, no helmet or scarf; sharp gusts of wind numbed whatever was exposed to them: her fingertips and neck, thinning ankles. A grainy layer of snow chilled her tender soles immediately, cold streaking up towards the chest where the faintest glow of Traveler’s touch still ached.

Soup zoomed in; his parts shuffled restlessly as he orbited around her one last time before halting in front of her face. “Was it  _ your _ dream?”

They both knew what he was talking about: Awoken dreams, colourful and perplexing, infinite predictions of future and memories of past veiled by ominous nature of her kind. Mesa shook head hesitantly, hugging herself and rubbing shoulders slowly. “I don’t know,” she muttered, at last, glancing up, “It was not like anything I have seen before. I think- I think  _ he _ talked to me.”

“Traveler?” He gasped, agitated. Despite Soup’s thrill, Warlock failed to answer him immediately. Ghost turned the light on and a blue beam struck her roundish face, unusually sharp on the cheekbones.

“I don’t know,” Mesa repeated again, her confidence faltering while she leapt across fragments of the cryptic dream, “It was so intense and weird. I think he tried showing me the way... where I should be.”

“And where is that?”

“EDZ.”

They fell silent, looking at each other. European Dead Zone was not the nicest place and definitely not a location she would like to end up at without her powers: Fallen swarmed the region, fighting for access to the scattered shards of Traveler. “Do you think we should go there?” Soup asked her reluctantly, his gaze averting in the direction of said place. It was far away from their whereabouts, a good 7 or even 8 thousand kilometres away - a distance impossible to cover simply by walking. It stressed Mesa as she imagined all the hardships they would have to suffer should they have chosen such a path.

“...No. We have agreed to go to the rendezvous point, and we will go there.” She came to a final decision, weighing all the pros and cons. There was no way to be certain that the dream was not a fruit of her distressed imagination. Logic and caution, her forte and motto: Mesa chose to stick to the original plan no matter how enticing it was to follow the ambiguous vision from her patron.

“Sure.” Soup ducked in, his cool metal shell resting between her robe’s inner and outer collars. “I am with you. I will follow you wherever you go.”

“Thank you, buddy.” She put a hand over him, pressing her Ghost firmly against dusty garments. They spent another few minutes gazing at the sky solemnly, enjoying an unexpected moment of privacy, before Mesa forced herself back into the cave and warm embrace of the blankets. The rest of the night was surprisingly uneventful, her sleep not burdened anymore by riddled messages or any images at all.

While their rest was sound, it was not enough to erase crankiness of limbs and overall tiredness. Mesa felt heavy and clumsy, her feet sore, her eyes dry; Nolan looked no better. Yet they pushed further up in the mountains - there was a path they could use to cross the ridge relatively safe.

“How did you know that you wanted to be a Warlock?” Nolan asked under his breath as Mesa returned from yet another scouting.

“I think I never had a choice, really,” She pondered for a couple of seconds, helping him climb up another rock, “Not in a bad sense, I mean. Soup found me during a research expedition he was sent along with, and their leader was a Warlock. He refused to go back to the City after Soup brought me in, so I got stuck with them for a couple of months... Naturally, I got interested in his studies, and he was forced to teach me some basics since I would tail him everywhere.”

“Easy enough, huh.”

“Not quite so, to be honest. When we finally came back to Vanguard, I had to go through several aptitude tests. I showed quite good results in understanding how Light was working and how to manipulate it. On a bad note…” Hearing Soup’s single cackle made her sigh: that bastard knew what she was about to say. “...I couldn’t handle a gun for the sake of my life, so I ended up stuck on Earth for a while as I had to improve my marksmanship and melee skills.”

“So I guess I am lucky that I remember how to fire-” With a gunt, Nolan pulled himself up against another boulder and peeked around it. “So you say a Guardian remembers skills from their last life?”

Mesa waited for him to walk further and glanced over her shoulder, making sure they had not left any immediately visible trails of their ascend before answering. “You see, Guardians have no recollection of past lives. I even heard of cases when people had to learn the language we are talking these days! They died in such an archaic past that they could not even understand anyone else talking to them!”

“Then again, some of the Guardians get visions of their past, but they are more like… glimpses of their memories. Nothing too clear.” Soup arrived with an addition to their conversation as soon as he heard the pause. “Which I find sad for our technological advance: imagine all the Golden Age tech we would be able to understand and replicate if some scientist could recall their research!”

“I suppose so…” Nolan muttered, knitting brows. Mesa had already learnt that it was a rare sight: normally, his face was lit with a small smile. Whether it was a tired or a bright one, the circumstances dictated, yet by so far whenever their glances met, he never failed to offer her a reassuring grin.

As he got lost in thoughts - perhaps, computing everything she and Soup poured over, - Mesa took the responsibility of leading the way. Eventually, her eyes caught a glimpse of some metal construction in distance: she halted their procession immediately and cautiously approached the edge of the cliff to get a better understanding of what it was.

A radio spire. A camp.

A refugee camp full of dead bodies.

Warlock swallowed thickly, her eyes training over the raided site. There were 6 bodies: a fireteam, perhaps? A thick whirring sound of Cabal ship passing by made her snap back to the harsh reality. They couldn’t help these poor people, but they could use their resources to survive: surely, the dead would have been happy about it. She turned back and motioned the rest of her party to join over.

Before Nolan even caught up with her, Mesa scrambled down the rocks to inspect the camp closer. Soup immediately materialized by her side, scanning what remained. “These Guardians… They had no chance without their powers,” He concluded with a strain in his voice. “That could be us.”

Indeed, there was a chance that these people fell victim to the same Cabal search group that almost spotted their band earlier. Just as that, it could have also been another patrol: Traveler knew how many of those were scouring mountains around the city in attempts to weed all the Guardians out. She couldn’t help but feel guilty - yet for what? For having better luck? Now that was ridiculous.

Mesa knelt by one of the bodies, reaching out to straighten the slumped figure. Her hands trembled as she pulled their cloak to cover a ghastly neck wound - cause of death, most likely. In front of her was a human hunter, their face twisted in a death mask of a pained expression.

Fear. Agony.

Warlock thought of her recent dream involuntarily, searching for any similarity in faces of those she saw. Fortunately, there was not a single connection and Mesa turned away, unable to keep looking a dead person for any longer. With her gaze averted, she reached out clumsily to close their eyes and ended up smudging their blood over the chin: apparently, it was still dripping from the mouth. That caught her attention; if their blood hadn’t dried up yet, then it had been a recent assault. Strangely enough, they hadn’t heard any gunshots-

Mesa gasped and pulled the cloak away to inspect the wound closer. Her gut call to throw up was not as big of a concern as the bite marks she found during her brief inspection. Dammit, she thought it was a slug rifle, not a beast maw! Warlock pried a gun out of tight deadman grasp and turned around. “Nolan!” Her hiss was loud enough to make him turn in her direction. “Nolan, warbeasts!”

“Mesa, please,” Soup chimed in, blocking her vision for a second, “If you die, I can’t resurrect you!”

“Soup, pocket. Now!” She waved him off, crouching next to the corpse. Her hands moved readily by a schooled routine: pull the magazine, discard, grab another one, click it in- Ready. “We need to be  _ very _ careful.” Soup’s muted voice migrated to her coms as Mesa narrowed eyes in the direction of the camp exit, a bottle-neck gorge that would get them to another valley.

In a second, Nolan crashed heavily into the bags that formed a makeshift cover. “Where?...” The soonest he tried speaking, Warlock made an angry hand gesture, urging him to shut up. Thank Traveler, he understood it and obeyed, his fingers tightening on the rifle grip. For a good minute, nothing happened. Mesa almost believed in their ridiculous luck. Could it be possible that their enemies did not notice any commotion at the raided camp? What if they had moved forward fast enough to miss out on two lone Guardians?

Wishful thinking, indeed. Mesa held breath, scanning their surroundings with a heavy gaze. Dammit, she should have kept the scraps of her helmet, surely one of the visor lenses was still usable! A good optic system could come in handy… Yet beggars can’t be choosers and Warlock kept burrowing her stare in rocks, hoping to notice any movement.

A single flapping sound startled her, glowing blue eyes darting up to the grey cloud-burdened sky. To her sheer amazement, there was a bird- A falcon, perhaps? Mesa squinted at it, trailing its lazy fly-by over the clearing until a slow realisation hit her - she had seen that bird before.

She  _ was _ that bird before.

As it plummeted with a razor-sharp screech, disappearing behind the rocks that marked a gorge entrance, Warlock picked up a distant growl. Soon, a single warbeast climbed a slab at the neck of the passage, sniffing the air for any new scents. His ripped muscles rolled under scaly, serpent-like skin, the sheer power of it visible with any movement. In any other situation, Mesa’s Warlock mind would have reflected over the unnatural build of these creatures. She speculate for hours what sort of hybridization created such an efficient monster - however, said monster was already heaving and pulling upper lip back: a clear sign of it attempting to track down a new scent.

Mesa reached back to Nolan blindly, patting his shoulder to catch his attention. With a brief glance at him to make sure she had him, Warlock pointed at the man himself and followed it by a slow double-tap of an index finger on the ground.  _ Stay down _ , as another Guardian taught her a few years ago; such a sweet and simple sign, so easy to read.

Nolan drew air in a protesting huff, but Mesa had already stepped halfway out of their cover with a loud whistle, catching the attention of the animal and firing a short round at it. It hit the target in the collarbone, making the warbeast whine sharply and hunker down. Another two showed up immediately, boosting towards her on their heavy paws. She exhaled sharply and made another step away from the cover and back to the centre of the camp.

Warbeasts always hunted in packs and this time was not an exception: short grunts and howls attracted a few more creatures. They dashed towards their deceptively lone prey, passing by the cover where Nolan was hiding - and not a single one of them paid attention to the curled figure of a human. Mesa managed to shoot down another two beasts before her gun clicked abruptly, magazine empty.

“Nolan,  _ NOW _ !” She put all the urgency in a tense yell, jumping over a supplies crate while trying to replace a magazine. Fear gripped onto her heart with liquid frost, but Warlock shook it off this time - she was not going to give up on her life easily. Luckily enough, Nolan picked up on her plan and heard her call to action, swiftly dispatching of a couple more beasts. The pack realised the danger and split in half, few of them returning back to figure out the source of secondary fire while some remained fixated on Mesa.

Her hands were shaking and blasted magazine would not fit into its place; fueled by sheer frustration, Mesa used all the strength she had to jam it into the throat of closest warbeast. It howled in pain, shaking head and trying to get rid of the metal. As it rolled on the ground, the magazine got pushed deeper into the wound, finally finding some artery. Blood gushed out, but Warlock didn’t even see it: she had to concentrate on remaining opponents.

The second magazine she picked up finally worked and she plugged it in without a hiccup. There was no time for relief as Mesa barely managed to open fire right into the gaping yap of the beast pouncing on her. It choked on its own blood, falling on the side heavily, and Warlock could finally get rid of the last alien dog that threatened her life with a short round into its side.

Once every Cabal miscreation around her was down, Mesa did not hesitate to deliver a finishing shot on every single of their heads - it never hurt to make sure that they were dead. She panted, looking over to Nolan. The human was sitting quietly on the ground with a white-knuckled grip on his scout rifle. Althea, who had always kept herself hidden, was spinning around him nervously, although there were no visible wounds.  _ Shock _ , Mesa realised. Whether he knew how to shoot a gun or not, Nolan awoke barely two days ago and this was his first battle and first kills in the new life.

“Nolan?” Calling out for him, Warlock slowly walked towards his slump shape. “Nolan, are you-”

_ Thud _ .

A heavy beast shape leapt over the wall of sacks, just above the head of the stupored human. The impact flung Mesa on the ground, flat on her back; she cried out in pain, wrenching arms up to protect her neck. The terrifying jaws locked their press on her forearm, crushing it like a sugar bone. Blood sprayed on Mesa’s chest as she thrashed around, trying to push clawed paws further away from her. Someone was yelling - Soup, perhaps - but she could not care enough about it, survival instincts kicking in.

_ I want to live _ .

An unexpected surge of strength allowed her to crunch up just enough to swing free arm and plunge a coiled fist right into the beast’s eye. It yelped and released hold of her flesh, giving Mesa enough room to twist away from underneath it. Her arm dragged on the dirt, leaving more vermillion streaks as she rolled away, closer to the gun that was kicked out of her hands barely moments before.

Few bullets, and the creature sank on the ground in its dying breath. This whole struggle took mere seconds but it was successful enough to make her feel like a fish out of water. Such a foolish, rookie mistake! It could cost her life. She felt like a spoiled child: years of being equipped with City’s finest technologies - a helmet with in-built motion radar, in this case, - made her forget what it meant to stay alert on her own.

“Mesa?! Mesa- Oh no, no, I will patch you up, just give me a second-” Soup popped out of thin air, his beam dancing over her maimed limb. It was strange to realize that it was the second time in a short while that she felt such a sharp pain in her poor arm. Flesh slowly bound together, regenerated cells closing bleeds as Warlock got on her feet. “I am so sorry, I was supposed to keep an eye on the radar, but I was so distracted, it was so chaotic-”

She let him babble, her head still spinning from rapid blood loss. Mesa swallowed thickly and wiped face, warm spit and blood drops smudging across it. Nolan was looking at her with a terrified expression, his jaw trembling. He shook head, clearly desolate at his own inability to do anything, and a shaky exhale escaped him. Human gaped for air desperately, words unable to leave his mouth, and Mesa staggered close to him, dropping heavily on knees in front of him.

“I am fine,” she reached out immediately to him, placing her hand over one of his, “I am fine. Had it worse. Breathe.” His fingers felt eerily cold, shaking in her grasp. Last night was repeating all over again, yet mirrored: she was comforting him this time. Nolan sat wordless, his pained expression making it clear enough for Mesa to know how he felt. She was no better on her first mission; taking lives had never been easy, even if it was to save her own or someone else.

As last pangs of pain were gone, Warlock flexed her recently wounded arm: all good, although sore. “We need to go. Cabal chip their warbeasts, so they might notice that this pack is stuck in one place for a while- Can you move?”

He simply nodded, panic tremor subdued after a good minute of silent comfort. Mesa did not push him, allowing the young man to process the events at his own pace. Warlock had plenty of other things to worry about: she and Soup looted camp quickly, fetching anything that seemed valuable in their situation. They even pocketed a portable radio station - that could help them track down both allies and foes if they figured out how to fix and tune it.

Nolan remained silent for the rest of the daylight as they pushed further into the mountains. It worried Mesa greatly and she felt awkward, helpless again. With no words to support him, she did it through actions instead: helping him climb up, keeping an eye on their surroundings and making them take breaks every few hours. He never asked her for anything: the man simply nodded with dull unspoken gratitude whenever she would pass him food or pull him up the rocks.

He never stowed his gun throughout their journey.

The day was closing on them and Mesa took a difficult decision of stopping for a night's rest. Was it foolish to do so after everything they had seen in the raided camp? Perhaps; yet Warlock also realised that both she and her partner needed a break after what had happened. Soup helped her find a small chimney section of the rocks that was not easy to spot and they huddled there.

With no place to stretch out and lie down, Guardians perched side to side, knees drawn up to their chins. Mesa arranged an extra blanket around them, silently tucking it in as Nolan stared up onto the starry sky. She was not sure whether he was simply thinking our looking out for Cabal Threshers.

“I am sorry,” he muttered at last, so quietly that Mesa would have thought that it was her imagination tricking her; however, Nolan continued speaking. “I was useless. It attacked you and I couldn’t even…”

“It’s never easy to kill.” She eyed him sympathetically and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I am fine, trust me.”

He didn’t answer her reassurance, averting eyes back to the sky. Mesa kept massaging his shoulder in slow squeezes, letting him know that she was still there and eventually Nolan put a hand on top of hers. His fingers fidgeted restlessly, trying to find a better grip onto her every couple of seconds until he managed to form whatever was burdening him into words.

“Why did they attack us? Why did they take the City?”

His question surprised her, although it was hard to say what Mesa expected. She licked lips - chapped from all the wind and chewing - and spoke back softly. “We bear something they don’t: Traveler and his Light. A power that has no rivals.”

He looked down at her and Mesa found herself unable to make his eyes out in the darkness of rock shadows. “So we were given our powers to protect… but these powers are also the reason why we need to protect everyone? So we are stuck fighting for peace… forever?”

“Ironically, it is… our destiny.” She smiled sadly. Somewhere deep in the heart, Mesa knew that she was a witness to an important moment: Nolan was choosing, flight or fight. For a second, she realized how lucky she was to have been reborn in a moment of relative peace, no active conflicts in the system. The human next to her, on the other hand, was rez’ed in the middle of slaughter no one was prepared to. What would he do? Run away as far as possible or stay and fight for justice, fight for people and home he didn’t even know he had?

“Someday I’ll get it, I guess.” He finally let go of her hand and leaned towards her shoulder instead, nestling his head on it. “One day… when I see the City in its glory. And when I feel Light.”

Mesa drew a sharp breath, reading his decision between the lines. She blinked sudden tears away and chuckled, shuffling to set herself comfortably against her companion. “That would be lovely,” Warlock whispered, “I think you will see why we fight to protect our home. It’s worth it.” He inched his head in a small nod and called Althea under breath. His Ghost surfaced up immediately and squirmed somewhere between thin layers of blankets, allowing him to hold her tightly close to the chest.

Mesa had already started dozing off when she heard him mutter again. “I am glad that we’re together in this mess. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You would survive, I’m sure,” She answered, not even trying to open her eyes: tiredness was about to claim her senses again, “But when we, Guardians, are together, we stand a better chance.” He made a small chuckle-like noise fell quiet, allowing them to rest in peace and warmth of their beaten bodies.

That night, no dreams or nightmares disturbed Mesa’s sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!   
> Welcome, or welcome back. NYE/Xmas holidays spiralled out of control, hence a long break, but I promise to post every 2-3 weeks on Mondays throughout this year.   
> Now, to the interesting part! How did you interpret prologue cinematic when you saw it the first time, without knowing what is about to come? I was actually amazed at the detail as I was working on this chapter and rewatching it. :)   
> As I embark on the journey of writing the next chapter, I would be happy if you shared YOUR Guardian name with me: I might just feature it in further chapters. :)   
> Thanks for reading and don't hesitate to leave your opinion in the comments!   
> Happy New Year, Guardians! :D


	3. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next leg of our Guardians’ journey takes us to the Twilight Gap where they meet some new friends. However, a grander reunion will be a reward for this gruesome fight for survival...

**Lost and Found**

_Hawthorne forged this weapon out of scraps and salvage during her years alone in the wilds._

“What else do you see there?”

“Cetus,” Mesa pointed up into the still starry sky. Her hand circled lazily in the frosty air, trailing the tail fin of a great cosmic whale. As her finger glided down the spine of the gargantuan fish, she carried on: “I think its ‘nose’ is at least 250 light-years away from us.”

“Incredible.” Nolan leant his head close to Warlock’s shoulder, following her directions with a solemn gaze. “How would you know that?”

“Not sure,” She admitted sheepishly, resting both hands on the stomach. “...I just know it. Perhaps, I have always known it, even in my past life. I just like gazing at the night sky. I think it’s the most beautiful like that. Like a road with many lights.”

“Your home might be far away from us, then.” The young man hummed peacefully. Air escaped his lips in translucent steamy clouds, small hot puffs that dissipated in the twilight. Together, Guardians gazed over the stars for a few more minutes before human broke out in another question. “And what is that one?..”

“Where?” It was Mesa’s turn to shift closer, trying to figure out where Nolan pointed. As she settled next to the human, their shoulders pressed, snug and warm: at least that was comforting. Her back ached - even a double layer of the blanket did not make up for a galling mattress of the rocks. “Ah, Venus! Wicked place, I would say. Not only is it plagued by Vex, but there are also Ahamkara bones… Even when dead, they play tricks on your mind.”

“Ah.” Nolan breathed out in a mock-knowing tone only to let out a confused huff next moment. “Ahamkara?..”

“They are categorized as extraterrestrial beings of unknown nature,” Althea eagerly supplied him with information, “Some called them wish-fulfilling dragons, but I refuse to operate in such dubious terms.”

“Dragons?” With a lift of the head, Nolan peered towards the greenish eye of his Ghost.

“A serpentine creature with wing appendages. It is attributed to several mythologies of humanity before the Golden Age.” Soup also joined their discussion. “Though I have never seen one in my existence and can’t confirm that. Hard to say if they actually looked like that and I can’t access Vanguard archives to prove it with any visual materials.”

“I heard someone from the Praxic Order saying that Ahakmara can actually take any form, should you wish them to do so.” Mesa smiled to herself. “Sounds like a fairy tale to me. I wish I witnessed that, however, they went extinct far before I was rez’d.”

“But wait, wish-fulfilling? What does that mean?” Human glanced at her while propping himself up on elbows.

“They seem to have paracausal powers that allowed Ahamkara to bend reality, including themselves, to fit parameters - a wish - given by a person. It is still a mystery though, science-wise, how they did it.” Mesa also sat up, squinting at the horizon. Peaks of mountains ahead brimmed with cold yellow light, hinting on the morning soon to come.

Soup immediately picked on her pondering. “Should we move out?”

“I suppose so, the sun is rising.” She nodded and stretched, cracking stiff joints. Her body was still a bit cold from laying on a thin layer of blankets over cold stones so Warlock gathered herself up and did a couple of small jumps to warm up. Nolan also scrambled from his bedding and started packing it neatly to spare Althea from rearranging tumbled cloth in her inventory. After a whole week of travelling together, they almost got used to this routine...

7 days. 7 impossibly long days since the attack. Mesa never forgot, never let it leave her mind even with her back towards still-smoking City edge. How could she, when whiffs of icy wind were carrying ashes of her home? Did she have a right to forget, when Cabal ship engines roared in the sky? It became even more painful to carry all that luggage as she and Nolan entered the Twilight Gap. It was a shock to realise that this part of the City outskirts was so far from the Wall, but... such feeling was nowhere close to the overbearing guilt of choosing it as a loophole. A pinnacle of Guardians’ pride, a place of honour: now it became humiliating escape route.

“It’s that falcon again,” Soup managed to distract Warlock from maddening self-destruction. Mesa looked up, following the bird with gaze until it dove beyond the steep rock formation. “Is it following us… Or are we following it?” 

“Not sure, buddy.” The female whispered back. The first time Mesa saw it in the daylight, she thought it was another one of those visions. However, the bird persisted on showing up every once in a while, rather too often for some sort of paracausal sign. After it landed a precise gunk hit on Soup - apparently, a Ghost could become a concentrated ball of rage, Mesa learnt on that occasion, - the party concluded that the bird was fairly real.

Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Warlock eagerly followed the general direction where the bird would show up. Fortunately, it aligned well enough with their plan, and Mesa felt almost no guilt for not telling anyone - although, perhaps, it was obvious enough to some. Nolan, for example, picked up on her new guide immediately as he stood next to Mesa, assessing the rock wall with her.“This formation is too tough to climb over, let’s try going around it?” They both came to a sombre realisation that it would be a waste of time to try climbing over. 

“The path seems to curve to the other side of the cliff, perhaps there’s an opening there. Let’s take a look?” Warlock offered; Nolan gave her a strong smack of approval on the back and she went ahead. Soon enough rocks started spreading in a larger opening and for the first time in a while Mesa found herself looking at the horizon unobscured by claustrophobic cliff walls. 

“I think we’re getting to the face of the peak!” She turned and yelled to her approaching companion.

“Do we need ropes?” The human called from behind. They have recently discovered that someone put bolts into the rocks, allowing a somewhat safer passage by the narrow and difficult paths. Rusty as they were, these relics of the past were still usable, although with a certain degree of caution.

“No, we’re fine, the ledge is wide enough!” Mesa replied with a quieter yell and investigated the serpentine ahead. The whole process of walking around the cliff edges was tediously slow, but they couldn’t afford a faster pace without testing the turf. A single shifty rock hidden under a snow pillow could give away, and then… Well, neither of the Guardians wanted to die stupidly in a fall off the mountain range.

As they slowly traversed the mountain front, holding onto frozen rocks for some support, Mesa couldn’t help but glance at the City in the distance. It was still burning, only the highest buildings were clear enough to make out in the smog. The Tower was gone, its ruins partially collapsed outside the wall; Traveler was in place, although Cabal blight started slowly spreading from the steel-hard grip of the vehicle attached to it. She wondered, what did they have in mind: drag him away from the City? Drain him of Light?

Thick noise revibrated rocks and both Guardians crouched immediately: a Cabal ship was closeby. Snow fell in heaps onto them as engine roar approached from around the corner, where they were headed. Mesa and Nolan exchanged worried glances and stayed perfectly still as they watched a fat carrier emerge to the right of them. It was unlikely that such a vessel would stop to take care of two poor Guardians, but there was a possibility that it could shoot at them from a distance. Truth to be told, Cabal didn’t even need to be precise: a cannon blast would simply trigger an avalanche that would sweep Guardians off the mountain in a blink of an eye. 

The soonest carrier was far enough from them, Nolan scuttled closer to his senior. “What was this thing doing here?” He asked under breath, clearly impressed by the size of the machine. The vehicle was so huge that it gave a dangerous impression of closeness as if they could reach a hand and touch the scrappy metal sides of it. 

“We are getting close to rendez-vous coordinates… They might have caught on the emergency channel,” Mesa kept listening to their surroundings for any sign of troops nearby, “So they could dispatch a Company here to investigate.”

“Should we go back?..”

She looked at him intently. There was no fear in his grey eyes - ever since their first conflict with Cabal, Nolan had been gaining in confidence. “There might be a Cabal unit further down the road, but I am inclined to face it,” She whispered to him, “Because if there is a refugee meeting point, we must help them as much as we can.”

Soup remained silent. Little hairs on the back of her neck bristled under his concerned stare as Mesa felt his disapproval of such a plan. “But if there are too many of them, let’s try sneaking past and warning people,” she concluded, making sure that her intentions were clear to everyone. If the situation allowed them to get rid of Cabal, they would proceed. Otherwise… Warlock was not going to die in a sacrificial attempt to save people. “How do you feel about it?”

“Wherever you go,” Human answered simply and pressed lips in a small smile. Mesa nodded and started shuffling further ahead until she managed to reach a narrow corridor. There, she stood up and flexed, readying her gun. For the time being, there were no sounds that could disturb her - except, perhaps, the impatient clacking of the falcon somewhere ahead. Mesa walked a bit further, climbing up the slippery ascend.

There was, indeed, a descent down to a valley. Two river streams joined into one, splitting the territory right in the middle. “Koshi river,” Soup gallantly supplied her with information as they watched falcon take off from a crooked pine tree branch and glide further below. “I am not entirely sure if there is a safe passage around here, you might want to ready your climbing gear.”

“Right after we take care of Cabal,” Mesa murmured in response. She closed eyes, letting go of sight, and allowed other senses to take over. The cold wind kept cutting her purplish skin, but she had already gotten used to it, as well as its howling sounds both near and far away. ”Does your scanner show anything?...”

“Not as of now.” Soup sighed, his eye slowly rotating in an attempt to pick up any heat or movement signature. “Should we trust the falcon?”

Mesa recalled its flight direction; while the bird could have simply drifted down to the valley, instead, it took a sharp turn to the left. “There is sort of a path that goes there…” She waved in the general direction of it. Soup followed her movement with a gaze and drifted closer to the pines, hiding in the shades of their evergreen needles. He let out a shimmering array of scan pulses, his eye dilating and filling up with input data.

She watched him with gentle white sadness creeping in her heart. They hadn’t really talked about it, but Mesa felt it how City attack had maimed her Ghost hard, if not harder than herself. Soup had been created by Traveler centuries ago and now he had been completely cut off from his progenitor. It was unsettling to think deeper into this problem; nonetheless, there had been a time or two when Mesa got dark thoughts. It was entirely possible that Soup was wasting his Light resource on her; what if he couldn’t regenerate it without his connection to Traveler?

His voice was tired, crackling with distortions since the moment they found each other in the city ruins. “Geo-scan shows that there is a relatively big clearing out there… A good drop-off site, if you ask me.” 

“Well, that’s one way,” Mesa sighed and waved to Nolan so that he would come over, “How do you feel about a fight? We might meet some Cabal soon.”

“I’m fine with that. Won’t fail you this time.” His answer was fairly confident. Mesa scrutinized his face for any signs of doubt or hesitation and again found none of those. Indeed, Nolan had readied his weapon. Although his face was a bit paler than usual, there was nothing else but calm determination in his posture and features as he looked over to the valley they meant to reach. 

Warlock was both relieved and proud. She had never been a mentor to a new Guardian before: Mesa had always felt that despite over 30 years under her belt, she was not ready yet to become someone’s guide in this thrilling new world. With Nolan, things appeared to be not as scary as she assumed. Of course, his personality and approach made things easier; her ‘apprentice’ was a gifted one, grasping things on the go. 

As they ran into another warbeasts pack, Nolan proved it once again: not a single loose shot, every bullet made it to the targets. Instead of henning over the human, Mesa busied herself in a quick duel with the dogs’ handler. That space rhino did not stand a chance against her: she had a solid motivation of reaching the rendez-vous point before their enemy could discover it. 

Nonetheless, Mesa missed the unique feeling of hunger somewhere deep inside her. Void Light had been her weapon for decades, its cold, decadent pulsation always kept her on edge. The knowledge that she could drain someone’s vital energy with a touch… It was stimulating. To lack that hunger was a great challenge; funnily enough, it had reminded her of those times when she would walk over to the fridge and find herself weirdly annoyed at being unable to choose a snack since her stomach was full. 

Well, to be fair, Void hunger was far deeper than that. It was neither delicate, at the edge of consciousness, nor antsy, restless. That hunger was as natural as breathing, as feeling wind brushing skin; it was there, concentrated in her fingertips and soft bulges of her palm as Warlock would slam her hand into the enemy’s flesh. 

Yet it was lost, that feeling that accompanied her through years. No pull, no energy coming from the habitual strikes she landed on Legionary’s chest. The blows she landed were lethal nonetheless, but they lacked the strength, the freedom of movement, amazing grace of Light. 

“Looks like we’re done here- Are you hurt?” Nolan approached her, looking worried as he spotted Mesa rub her palm absently. She shook her head, brows still knit.

“No, it’s just… Not as efficient as it used to be. I think I need to revise my fighting style.” Warlock sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Never mind me, I sometimes get lost in thoughts.”

“A typical Warlock, you see.” Soup chuckled in their coms, hesitant to show up yet. “You know, while you were distracted I scanned the area a bit further, and it looks like there is a massive opening further ahead! I am also getting some radio disturbance, might be what we are searching for.”

“Alright, commander!” She holstered weapon: it looked like there was a good climb ahead of them. With Nolan guarding their back, Mesa dedicated herself to scrambling over rocks to find a better route for them. It was not long before Soup perked up again, announcing that the valley he caught a radio signal from was just around the corner - however, there was a massive jump ahead of her.

She swallowed thickly, accessing the area. Jumps have never been her thing… Theoretically, this one was not impossible even without all the powers Light gave her. With at least 5 meters for acceleration, Mesa had good chances to fly over the hollow and land on the other side without any problem. _Come on,_ she thought to herself and sprang from one foot to another a couple of times to warm up before the jump. “Don’t stress it,” Soup whispered into her coms, “You can do it!”

She pushed off, feeling her heels creak as they dug into the dirt. Merely a few seconds passed as Warlock dashed forward, powerful lunges accompanied by strong running movement of her arms, and launched herself into the air as soon as her boot hit the bare surface of the rock edge. Gravity was a merciless bitch: Mesa’s body felt like a sack of potatoes, just as heavy and formless, as it approached the opposite cliff with an alarming speed… And a completely failed trajectory.

She crashed into the rock, the force of it knocking all the air out of her lungs. As Mesa flailed in panic, desperately trying to clutch onto something and pull herself up, debris started crumbling under her weight and pulled her below along with loose rocks. In the last attempt to hold onto something she managed to set her hand onto one of the slabs and yet her fingers slipped on the sleek surface.

Warlock fell, her face towards the sky - that was the last thing she remembered before the sharp pain of landing.

There was no suffering, just numbness of her back and limbs. Instead of a groan, a wheeze escaped her chest as Mesa tried taking a breath. Soup was spinning crazily over her, his babbling muted in her ears, and all she could do was to push herself to the side awkwardly. Her arms moved, albeit reluctantly, as if Mesa had little control over them. “You okay? That didn’t look… great.” Ghost lowered down to her eye level and blinked worriedly.

“...I’ve always had problems with jumps, right?” Mesa croaked, then coughing up on the dust that was still settling around her. Soup laughed, and she was about to cackle as well when a noise reached her ears: approaching steps. For a brief second, before Warlock glanced up, she was almost certain that it was Nolan - then, a blood-chilling realisation hit her.

He couldn’t have descended that fast.

The figure, halo-lit by setting sun, was vaguely human. A rifle barrel extended from her back, the hood and a ridiculous poncho hid the rest of detail. Mesa squinted, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and have a better visual of the stranger. “Oh, look!” A female voice had a hint of amusement in it, “Someone left a perfectly good Guardian lying around!”

The woman grasped Mesa’s hand strongly and pulled Warlock up on her feet. “Things must be worse than I thought,” she said nonchalantly while eyeing Awoken. The awkward silence was ripped by the sound of a signal flare. Woman’s gaze darted over to the sky and her face immediately hardened. “And that’s our cue.”

Mesa stared at her in awe, registering features of her face. Deeply tanned, dark skin, a circle of tattooed dots across it. She was definitely a human, but her outfit was not something a citizen would wear - it was patchy, made of cloth scraps and mismatched items. The woman no longer looked at Mesa as she turned around and waved over to someone. “Time to go, people!” She yelled on top of her lungs and started walking off from the Guardian.

“Uh, but- Wait,” Soup looked as dumbfounded as Mesa did, “Where… Where are you all going?” The moment he asked it, Warlock finally realised that there were at least a couple dozens of people - and jumpships of varied condition.

“As far away from here as possible.” The woman replied and cut her explanation short. An ear-piercing screech of a diving falcon interrupted them; the bird flew over to the human and landed heavily onto her guarded wrist.

Mesa and Soup exchanged a dazed glance before her Ghost spoke again. “That falcon… It belongs to you?”

“The name is Hawthorne,” The woman nodded at herself and then tilted her head towards the falcon. “And this is Louis. The best pilot we’ve got. What about you? Fit to fly?”

“I can pilot a ship,” Mesa answered, completely awestruck and awkward. “But we have another person with us- They need help to get down from the rocks.”

“Hurry up, then, we’re taking off right away. Oh, probably gonna need one of these too-” She unstrapped a second firearm from her belt and tossed it over to the Awoken. “Time to make yourself useful… Guardian.” Her tone cut Mesa sharper than the finest sword City’s foundries could offer.

“Alright, people, spin them up! ‘Got a long flight ahead of us!” Hawthorne commanded again, jogging towards one of the ships.

“You think we can trust them?” Soup sounded concerned. Mesa eyed him hesitantly and shrugged.

“It’s not like we have a choice, buddy… Let’s fetch Nolan. He must be going crazy out there.”

The following few hours passed in a haze of total disbelief. Hawthorne - her name was Suraya, as they learnt later - got them on her ship and popped first set of coordinates to help Mesa follow the route. Then, the woman fell asleep almost immediately after strapping herself in a seat. Mesa clutched onto the steering wheel as if it was her first flight: so odd it was to be back in a jumpship.

The flight was quite intense on its own; they took a couple of stops, making sure that Cabal vehicles passed the area, before taking off to the next location. The other ships also picked up a few more refugees from other meeting points, slowly getting their head count to at least a good hundred people. “We’re moving everyone we can find to the Farm,” Hawthorne noted as they took off for the last time before reaching their final destination. “Sure we have a Cabal base neighbouring us, but we are within the very edge of the Shard area, they won’t be able to find us since all signals are jammed there.”

“The Farm is by… EDZ?” Mesa shot a glance at Nolan; she had told him about her dream not so long ago, so he gave her a surprised and understanding expression as they heard of the location.

“Yeah, nice place, isn’t it?” Suraya scoffed, slowly pushing her ship to the head of the procession. “Fallen swarming in the forest, Taken have a whole blighted nest in the old dam- Fortunately for us, this place is inconspicuous enough to set a foothold there.” 

The Guardians nodded to each other and stayed quiet until the ship landed at the lake bank. There was not much to say; clearly, both of them were out of it and completely astonished by their sudden rescue. Everything was bewildering: yellowing grass under their feet, frames leading other ships to their respective landing plots with flashy led lights… 

“Alright, you two, I’m sure Shaxx will brief you on what’s going on. He’s over there, in that huge barn building, opposite of the search board- I gotta go,” Hawthorne passed by them, giving Warlock a quick pat on the shoulder, “See you in a bit!” As she ran off in her busy gait, Mesa allowed herself to get enthralled with the view of the farm. There was no way to describe a feeling in her chest. Here they were, in a camp full of people: a bunch of mechanics debating ardently over a half-dismantled jumpship; few kids chased around by a woman trying to shoo them away from workers; frames helping to sort crates of unknown origin. The Farm was lively for sure, it bustled with energy and thin air of hope. 

“Hey, I think I see the search board over there,” Nolan touched her elbow with his insufferable delicacy, “Should we go there? Or to that… Shaxx person?” 

“Yeah… Search board first, I guess.” Still lost and overwhelmed, Warlock allowed him to lead the way as she kept soaking up the atmosphere of the camp. So busy, almost like at the Tower! The biggest difference was that there were people- normal people. For the decades of her guardianship, Mesa had never really encountered that many of them: citizen access to the Tower was strictly limited, only a few specialists and faction leaders were allowed in Guardians’ sanctum. Here, however, they were everywhere. 

“Jared, Yarrow-14 asked us to bring the first 5 crates from DGN series over to their station!”

“Careful! I am carrying rations for the field troops!”

“I wish Hawthorne would include me in the next rescue group…” 

“Look, we need more tents, sector H-6 is almost filled up! More refugees are coming soon and we are nowhere close to being prepared…”

It was strange to witness people whom they had been protecting for centuries now run all the routines on par. Strange and sickening; it reminded her of the powers Warlock lost. She was the same as them, now. While there was nothing bad in being just like the citizens, Mesa grieved that she was not able to protect them well enough. 

“Wow, that’s… a lot of names, huh.”

Nolan’s upset mumble made her turn towards the boards they reached. Several big holo-screens were attached to haphazardous steel frames; they shimmered lightly, switching between pages in the idle mode. Names, countless names: about a hundred in each list, countless pages, all with a ‘missing’ status. The sheer scale of it made her feel sick again, yet Mesa reached out, although hesitantly, to tap on the ‘search’ button. 

Asher Mir. Missing. Ikora Rey. Missing. Cayde-6. Missing. Lowell Hunt. Missing. Jet-7...

“ _Oh._ ” Her search highlighted a name with a solid green frame. Status: at the Farm. Mesa tapped eagerly onto the screen to access the menu. His profile had a brief overview - Titan, Vanguard agent, ready to deploy - a list of people he was searching for, and a tempting ‘message’ button. 

“Are we going to notify him now?” Soup fidgeted next to her head excitedly, his bluish gaze dancing over the holo-screen. Mesa nodded and quickly wrote one phrase, hitting ‘send’ despite possible typos - she was way too excited at the prospect of seeing soon someone she knew. Her gaze then travelled to Nolan who was looking at the neighbouring screen with a perplexed expression. _Nolan Lakes_ , Warlock read and saw the list of people searching for him. There were a few who shared his surname.

“Vanguard does not approve of Guardians seeking for their past, but…” Mesa spoke gently onto his ear, “I think your family deserves to know what happened to you.” 

“Is it a good idea? Won’t they be… sad that I am like… _this_ now?” He turned to her, seeking advice. Althea also stared at Mesa, however, she remained quiet. With a silent approval from the Ghost, Warlock cautiously spoke.

“Go ahead, tell them that you are alive. We’ll figure it out at some point.” She smiled at her companion. He took a long breath - gathering strength - and also typed a couple of messages slowly, his fingers seemingly numb. 

“I just told them that I am here, but I also wrote that I will find them in the camp once I am done… With whatever needs to be done first.” Human said sheepishly, rubbing his own arm. “I don’t know- I don’t even know them. What am I gonna say? I need time, I think.” 

“It’s alright, don’t rile yourself up.” Althea chirped. “I am sure they will be happy to see you either way! And you did well by giving yourself some time to accommodate yourself with an idea of meeting your family. Once we have…”

Nolan’s Ghost unleashed an avalanche of scientific facts about psychological welfare and how her Guardian could make himself comfortable with an idea of meeting his lost family. Although she did not lose interest in their conversation, Mesa grew more and more distracted and restless. Warlock’s gaze was, instead, trailing over the stream of people crossing the small plaza. She searched for someone- A person who was supposed to receive her message. Someone who deserved to know before anybody else that she was alive. Obviously it could take him time to arrive there, especially if he was at the camp area, rather than the main square, but Mesa knew that he would rush to her in a typical Striker way. 

“Move- Mesa? MESA!” 

Warlock whipped around immediately as she heard the booming timbre. Indeed, a familiar Titan figure was rushing towards her, almost tossing passerby like skittles out of his way. Mesa yelped, unable to even call him by name, and dashed towards the towering Exo. He intercepted her before she was able to cross the clearing and swept her up in arms, crushing in a tight hug. “You made it, sister! You made it!” He exclaimed in triumph, his thick voice too loud, almost hurtfully so, but she laughed, wrapping her arms around his solid neck.

They stood like that for a good minute, her feet dangling in the air as Titan wouldn’t let her go. In any other situation she would protest and squirm her way out, but feeling cold steel of an Exo cheek pressed to hers, the smoky scent of his metal construction - it felt like home. Mesa buried her face in him with a muffled squeak of joy and tried her best to give him as strong of a squeeze as she could. His chest shook in a breathless laugh, pumps working on an artificial muscle movement as Titan blabbered something, words ‘good’ and ‘thank Traveler’ reaching her ears.

“Aaaah, I _KNEW_ it! You’re not an easy one to kill, huh!” He finally put her back on earth and started patting her shoulders. “All good? Not hurt? Traveler’s ball, I am so glad to see you! Just look at you, standing here, in front of me, safe’n’sound after that ruckus with that Ghaul asshole!” 

“Jet, you have no idea how glad I am- How did you get here so fast?” She caught and held his gloved hands, face twisted in a painful smile.

“Man, I was just over there, hanging out with Shaxx- I am helping him with stuff, you know?” Exo clutched onto her hands. It had always been hard to read his expression but after years of working together, she did not need any help in figuring out that he was brimming with joy. As they grinned in awe, their Ghosts gravitated towards each other in their habitual greeting dance. “Soup,” a tough, scrap-made shell nodded, her voice thick with unspoken satisfaction. “Junior!” Mesa’s Ghost replied happily, “My, what a pleasure to see you, colleague!”

“I was not eager to calculate your chances of survival, so I trusted Jet on this occasion.” The deeply modulated voice pleasantly fit her rough appearance. “And he was adamant on your survival.”

“Junior, you would not believe those odds. The journey was disastrous- Oh!” Mesa startled and took a step back, glancing over to Nolan and calling him over with a small hand gesture. “We wouldn’t make it here without him! Allow me to introduce you- It’s Nolan.” He looked reluctant, yet her joyous expression convinced him to step closer and offer a hand to shake.

Jet had other plans. “My friend!” The Titan immediately pulled the human into a hearty hug; Warlock cringed, hearing a cracking noise and faint ‘guh’ escaping Nolan’s lips.

“Easy on him, Jet- He’s new to all of this.” She stepped closer to them both and placed her hand gently onto Titan’s shoulder. He rumbled out a cackle and set the human on earth, checking him out with a scrupulous gaze as Mesa spoke. “Nolan, this is Jet-7. He is one of my fireteam.”

“Ah.” The human glanced at her from the corner of the eye and suddenly Warlock recalled the same very expression from the morning - it could be roughly translated as _‘well that explains everything - actually, no’_. She gave him a warm, reassuring smile and put her other hand on his shoulder, forming their company into a triangle.

“I think there’s a lot we need to talk about. Shall we?..”

“A-ha, sure! Man, you must be starving, let me show you where the canteen is- And then we’ll see Shaxx! I bet he’s gonna be beyond himself-” As Jet’s babbling wasn’t something Mesa would be able to keep under control, she simply let him have a blast as the Titan began drifting off in some direction. Warlock looked over to the human again and whispered a gentle “Let’s go”, nudging him to follow. 

The warm feeling that Traveler gave her in a dream was back. They might have been lost in the wilds for a while, but they were also found… There was some hope left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, January was a mess! It took me quite a long time to finish this chapter and I am not entirely satisfied with it, but I hope you will still like it. Fortunately, there will be more action in the next instalment!
> 
> You, Guardians, are still welcome to tell me names and tidbits about your 'kids' so that I could put them in the narrative. :) 
> 
> Never hesitate to tell your thoughts on this fic! I am new to such a long format so it will take time to improve: any feedback is welcome!


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